“The photos on Google Reviews don’t nearly do this place justice. In a scenic drive from the thriving city of Madelia to the purifying waters of Lake Hanska, I stopped at this fine establishment to imbibe on a few Bud Lights after a glorious day of gorging myself with proteins from La Salle Meats.Upon entering, I felt an immediate stillness and euphoria from the calm atmosphere and history that encompassed me. Relics of Jesse James and his adversity to financial monarchy and oppression surrounded me. Filling me with vigor and a misplaced sense of rebel pride. I quickly ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon and a side of biscuits and gravy. I made sure to verbally accost the waitress to stay in character with the southern influence.Maybe it was the delicious biscuits I was devouring, or maybe it was the onset of Gout flowing through my extremities, but I’m certain I felt the sharp throbbing of my feet as I listened to countless bangers on the TouchTunes across the bar. Classics from Tom Jones massaged my ears like tiny angels, whispering sweet nothings into my soul.After finishing my meal, I paid and I made sure to leave my signature in the bathroom stall for all to know that I was once at the Village Inn. Just a regular guy, with a sharpie, leaving his mark and advice for the next patron of the most special place in La Salle.Also the steak is pretty boss…“
Recommended
“The photos on Google Reviews don’t nearly do this place justice. In a scenic drive from the thriving city of Madelia to the purifying waters of Lake Hanska, I stopped at this fine establishment to imbibe on a few Bud Lights after a glorious day of gorging myself with proteins from La Salle Meats.Upon entering, I felt an immediate stillness and euphoria from the calm atmosphere and history that encompassed me. Relics of Jesse James and his adversity to financial monarchy and oppression surrounded me. Filling me with vigor and a misplaced sense of rebel pride. I quickly ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon and a side of biscuits and gravy. I made sure to verbally accost the waitress to stay in character with the southern influence.Maybe it was the delicious biscuits I was devouring, or maybe it was the onset of Gout flowing through my extremities, but I’m certain I felt the sharp throbbing of my feet as I listened to countless bangers on the TouchTunes across the bar. Classics from Tom Jones massaged my ears like tiny angels, whispering sweet nothings into my soul.After finishing my meal, I paid and I made sure to leave my signature in the bathroom stall for all to know that I was once at the Village Inn. Just a regular guy, with a sharpie, leaving his mark and advice for the next patron of the most special place in La Salle.Also the steak is pretty boss…“